Winter Is Coming
by Kagirinai-Eternal
Summary: The Stark words: "Winter is coming". But Jon wasn't a Stark. He was a Snow. A bastard. A brother to the heirs of Winterfell and a Brother of the Watch. He was a warg and a Wildling. And, unknown, but most important, he was Winter's champion.
1. 1: JON

**SPOILER ALERT!: **_**GAME OF THRONES**_** REFERENCES ARE DRAWN MOSTLY FROM THE BOOKS, SINCE I'VE ONLY SEEN THE FIRST SEASON OF THE SERIES. MORE SPECIFICALLY, I WILL BE LEADING OFF FROM THE LAST APPEARANCE OF JON SNOW IN **_**A DANCE WITH DRAGONS**___**SO IF YOU HAVEN'T READ THAT BOOK YET, YOU MAY NOT WANT TO READ THIS FIC. ALL I WILL SAY HERE IS THAT CERTAIN THINGS WERE LEFT VERY OPEN AND FRUSTRATINGLY AMBIGUOUS, AND, SINCE THE NEXT BOOK IS NOT YET OUT, I WILL BE TAKING LENIENCIES AND CLAIMING THESE FANDOMS AS MY PERSONAL PLAYGROUND.**

**Title:** Winter Is Coming

**Rating:** T, may increase to M for bloodshed and general GoT-style awesomeness

**Genre:** Drama/Hurt/Comfort/Betrayal/Adventure/Action…basic ally a bit of everything

**Category A:** _Rise of the Guardians_

**Category B:** _A Song of Ice & Fire/Game of Thrones_

**Characters:** Jon Snow, Jack Frost, Ghost, Daenerys, probably heavy mentions of Arya because she's fabulous, appearances by assorted other characters from both fandoms.

**Summary:** _The Stark words: "Winter is coming". But Jon wasn't a Stark. He was a Snow. A bastard. A brother to the heirs of Winterfell and a Brother of the Watch. He was a warg and a Wildling. And, unknown, but most important, he was Winter's champion._

**Disclaimer:** _Sadly, I am not the genius behind _A Song of Ice & Fire_, nor one of the ones behind _Rise of the Guardians_. All I own is my own insanity, which I claim proudly and fully blame for this convoluted mess._

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Chapter One: JON

For the first time since arriving at the Wall – the first time in his life, in all honestly – Jon Snow felt truly warm. Even at Winterfell, when summer was strong, there had always been that slight chill in the air, that lingering reminder of what loomed to the north, pacing beyond the great icy barrier that protected the Seven Kingdoms from ghost stories and fairy tales and things so much more sinister. It was ironic that he was filled with this life-giving warmth now, when he was also filled with cold steel and bitter betrayal. His world shrank to swirling black and seeping red, but suddenly widened again at a flash of white. Weakly, his mind linked the white to the red. "_Ghost_?"

No, not Ghost. The direwolf was locked away to maintain the fragile peace; the peace that was now as broken as his skin. Locked away despite Melisandre's warnings. Another hot shot of pain raced through his blood as another knife sank into his flesh. As it dulled to a comfortable warmth, it settled in his fingers, loosening his grasp on Longclaw, sending the blade pinging against the ice and stone. Jon sank to his knees, reaching for that warm embrace, wondering who waited to greet him. Would it be Ygritte? The stern face of his father? Would he see the Old Bear? Would he be disappointed in him? All the faces he had lost flashed by his eyes, wearing different expressions, but each one welcoming him home. _Home_. The word rang sweetly in his buzzing ears. He finally had a home.

And then the wonderful warmth turned into a biting cold that shocked him back into his bleeding body. The flapping of crow wings surrounded him…no, not wings. Cloaks. Black cloaks, whipping in a fierce wind.

His brothers.

His betrayers.

They stood around him in a wide circle, not as close as they had been; did they think him dead? Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flutter of motion, vaguely wondering who was coming to finish the job. Then there was a sizzling crackle, the sound of something burning cold, and an unfamiliar voice spoke out, breaking the eerie quiet and silencing the wailing wind.

"Come no closer."

Jon struggled to move, to bring this unknown speaker into his vision, finally succeeding as a form appeared in his periphery. The figure was stick thin and corpse pale, draped in a light cloak that was crusted with frost. The face was turned away from him, watching the dark circle warily, but the white hair and crooked staff hinted at age and an odd power. Was this a ghost? Where was Ghost? "Ghost?" he whispered again, mind reaching for his one true friend; the last brother he had. The figure glanced down at him and he saw a pair of bright blue eyes that glowed with magic. Before he could feel afraid, fur found his searching fingers and he gripped it desperately, sinking into blackness.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Consciousness proved to be elusive, repeatedly rejecting Jon's presence and pushing him back into the empty abyss. His sleep was dreamless and fevered, but his waking moments, brief though they were, were haunted with glowing blue eyes and a bone-deep cold. Finally, after what seemed like years, but could have been only hours, he managed to push the darkness back long enough to blink his surrounding into existence.

The first thing he saw was the bright dance of flames, their vibrant orange and red costumes out of place in the colorless darkness that pressed in on them. Beyond that, a white silhouette blended into an equally white backdrop, distinguishable only by the hell-red eyes that turned to look at him in silent greeting before roving back to stare out at the snow, ever alert for danger. Once again, Ghost was his faithful guardian.

Despite the fire, there was a noticeable chill in the air, filling whatever hollow housed him. It seeped through his skin, making his hair rise, as much from apprehension as cold. Old Nan's words came back to him, coupled with the glowing irises that had plagued his near-conscious moments; _they come with the cold_. His hand searched for a weapon while his grey eyes scanned the gloom for any hint of danger. The latter was successful, while the former came up woefully short.

Above him, perched on a thin ledge that was all but lost in the hazy blackness, a figure crouched, staring down at him with eyes that gleamed with a light all their own. The firelight illuminated ice-white skin, while veiling the looming face in shadow. Something long and thin rested across the figure's lap. Jon couldn't tell if it was a weapon; he didn't care. Armed or not, he was trapped with a white-walker.

The figure blinked, cocking its head. "You need not fear me, Jon Snow. Ghost would not tolerate me if I meant you harm."

Despite himself, Jon let his gaze leave the enemy and glanced at the direwolf. He was still calmly watching the snow outside. Quickly, he turned back to the specter, still leery, but also slightly awed. He'd never known they were capable of speech. "Are you not a white-walker?"

"Not." The figure uncoiled, leaping from its ledge. To Jon, it almost seemed to float. He scrambled backwards as it stepped fully into the firelight, revealing a young man. He appeared to be of an age with him, yet younger and infinitely older at the same time. The long object proved to be a tall staff, similar to those used by shepherds in the Kingdoms. He laughed at Jon's wariness, bending at the waist in a sloppy bow. His hand – white as the rest of him, not black – settled over his heart. "I am Jack Frost."


	2. 2: DAENERYS

**SPOILER ALERT!: **_**GAME OF THRONES**_** REFERENCES ARE DRAWN MOSTLY FROM THE BOOKS, SINCE I'VE ONLY SEEN THE FIRST SEASON OF THE SERIES. MORE SPECIFICALLY, I WILL BE LEADING OFF FROM THE LAST APPEARANCE OF JON SNOW IN **_**A DANCE WITH DRAGONS **___**SO IF YOU HAVEN'T READ THAT BOOK YET, YOU MAY NOT WANT TO READ THIS FIC. ALL I WILL SAY HERE IS THAT CERTAIN THINGS WERE LEFT VERY OPEN AND FRUSTRATINGLY AMBIGUOUS, AND, SINCE THE NEXT BOOK IS NOT YET OUT, I WILL BE TAKING LENIENCIES AND CLAIMING THESE FANDOMS AS MY PERSONAL PLAYGROUND.**

**Title:** Winter Is Coming

**Rating:** T, may increase to M for bloodshed and general GoT-style awesomeness

**Genre:** Drama/Hurt/Comfort/Betrayal/Adventure/Action…basic ally a bit of everything

**Category A:** _Rise of the Guardians_

**Category B:** _A Song of Ice & Fire/Game of Thrones_

**Characters:** Jon Snow, Jack Frost, Ghost, Daenerys, probably heavy mentions of Arya because she's fabulous, appearances by assorted other characters from both fandoms.

**Summary:** _The Stark words: "Winter is coming". But Jon wasn't a Stark. He was a Snow. A bastard. A brother to the heirs of Winterfell and a Brother of the Watch. He was a warg and a Wildling. And, unknown, but most important, he was Winter's champion._

**Disclaimer:** _Sadly, I am not the genius behind _A Song of Ice & Fire_, nor one of the ones behind _Rise of the Guardians_. All I own is my own insanity, which I claim proudly and fully blame for this convoluted mess._

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Chapter Two: DAENERYS

Dany raised an arm, letting her fingers comb through the wind as Drogon winged lazily across the sky. Below her, her newly claimed _khalasar_ sailed their living crafts across the Dothraki sea. Once again, she was their _khaleesi_, their queen by her own rights and power. Even the fearsome horse lords knew it was better to bend the knee when faced with fire and death. It bolstered her confidence; all would kneel to the dragon.

A frigid bite leapt out of the wind, nipping at her bare shoulders and making her lean against Drogon's warm neck. Dragons, it seemed, did not like the cold. "Winter is coming," she murmured, trying to remember whose words they were. It surprised her when she realized they belonged to the Usurper's traitorous Hand. Of all the words that could have popped into her head…she took solace that at least she hadn't quoted the pompous lies of Lannister or Baratheon…both their boasts belonged to her, anyway. And she couldn't deny the truth of the Stark words. It was longer coming here across the sea, but winter was on its way.

Drogon bellowed, shooting a jet of flame through the sky. Dany shook off her reverie, gazing into the horizon. A hazy silhouette greeted her, cloaked in smoke and dust. Her city. It was faint, but she heard the roars of Viserion and Rhaegal, sending furious greetings to their larger sibling from their dark pit. She breathed a sigh of relief; her children were still alive. She could only hope the rest were too.

Flicking her whip, she directed the black dragon down to the grass, sitting tall as her _khalasar_ pulled up around her. Silently, she pointed across the grassy sea to the great pyramid that was a triangular speck, directing their eyes to it. "That is the city of Meereen. Take it. Kill anyone who opposes you." She held faith that her children would not fight against the Dothraki, not when they saw her at their head. Any that did; well, they weren't truly her children, then. She was a mother, yes. But she was also a queen and a dragon. A conqueror.

And she was angry.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

The battle was swift, but satisfactorily bloody. The armies surrounding Meereen had wasted no time in taking up arms when they saw the approaching horde, but a good number had melted into the mists when they saw her swooping from the skies. She let them run; they were no threat to her.

Word of their queen's miraculous return had quickly infiltrated the city, spurring her people out of their timid complacency. By the time the last resister had been felled, the gates were opening to welcome her. Grey Worm stood at the front of her Unsullied army, her would-be king held in his iron grasp.

"What would my queen have me do with this one?"

Daenerys stared at her husband, not missing the terror and guilt in his gaze. He had thought her dead; he had not searched for her. He had probably planned to kill her himself. Slowly, deliberately, she let her eyes drift to the catapults that stood outside her walls. "Return him to his people." Her face was calm and impassive, unbothered by the utter horror on her king's face as the powerful eunuch dragged him through the dust.

Dany didn't need to watch to ensure her bidding was done. The Unsullied were loyal to her and her alone. Instead, she passed through the gates at the head of her Dothrakis, greeted with cheers that ebbed slightly when Drogon glided overhead, settling on one of the lesser pyramids with a mighty roar. She could have smiled. She could have soothed their fears, insisting that the smoke-and-blood behemoth was only a threat to those she chose. That he was tame; or as tame as a dragon could be. But she didn't. All of this pain and death had come around because she had been too soft, too motherly. She had learned that love and respect were two separate things, and a proper queen needed both. Even the kindest mothers had to frighten their children a little.

That was the only way to keep them alive.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

_**A/N: I'm sorry that sucked. Daenerys is such a complex character…she's difficult to write. But she's kind of important to this story, so I had to bring her in early. Let me know what you think.**_


	3. 3: GHOST

**SPOILER ALERT!: **_**GAME OF THRONES**_** REFERENCES ARE DRAWN MOSTLY FROM THE BOOKS, SINCE I'VE ONLY SEEN THE FIRST SEASON OF THE SERIES. MORE SPECIFICALLY, I WILL BE LEADING OFF FROM THE LAST APPEARANCE OF JON SNOW IN **_**A DANCE WITH DRAGONS **___**SO IF YOU HAVEN'T READ THAT BOOK YET, YOU MAY NOT WANT TO READ THIS FIC. ALL I WILL SAY HERE IS THAT CERTAIN THINGS WERE LEFT VERY OPEN AND FRUSTRATINGLY AMBIGUOUS, AND, SINCE THE NEXT BOOK IS NOT YET OUT, I WILL BE TAKING LENIENCIES AND CLAIMING THESE FANDOMS AS MY PERSONAL PLAYGROUND.**

**Title:** Winter Is Coming

**Rating:** T, may increase to M for bloodshed and general GoT-style awesomeness

**Genre:** Drama/Hurt/Comfort/Betrayal/Adventure/Action…basic ally a bit of everything

**Category A:** _Rise of the Guardians_

**Category B:** _A Song of Ice & Fire/Game of Thrones_

**Characters:** Jon Snow, Jack Frost, Ghost, Daenerys, probably heavy mentions of Arya because she's fabulous, appearances by assorted other characters from both fandoms.

**Summary:** _The Stark words: "Winter is coming". But Jon wasn't a Stark. He was a Snow. A bastard. A brother to the heirs of Winterfell and a Brother of the Watch. He was a warg and a Wildling. And, unknown, but most important, he was Winter's champion._

**Disclaimer:** _Sadly, I am not the genius behind _A Song of Ice & Fire_, nor one of the ones behind _Rise of the Guardians_. All I own is my own insanity, which I claim proudly and fully blame for this convoluted mess._

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Chapter Three: GHOST

Jon slept a lot. At first, Ghost had been concerned, for his man-brother did not join him like he normally did. There was a strange wall between them when he slept. Ghost thought it had to do with the scent of blood and near-death that clung to Jon, but then he saw the strange man-beast sprinkling a powder over his brother.

Anger surged through him, hackles rising as he stalked towards the man-beast. How dare he keep Jon away from him? That was how the almost-dead scent had gotten there in the first place; he had been kept away. The white direwolf called on every power he was connected to, conveying his silent message as clearly as words. _Stay away from mine_.

But the man-beast did not show fear. Instead, he met his gaze evenly, his glowing eyes piercing into the direwolf. An ancient power crackled through the air and Ghost took a step back, ears pinned flat. This was no ordinary man-beast, magical or otherwise. His normal scent of snow and refreshing cold intensified, moving from wintery to actual winter.

"He does not run with you because his energy is focusing on healing." The voice was the same, yet different; stronger, like it had been when he'd protected Jon from the Night-men. The winter-man-beast held out a hand and Ghost sniffed it warily. "It is not my doing that has kept you separate." Ghost could not smell any falseness in the words, so he relaxed, watching as the man-beast resumed his task. Now, however, he explained as he worked, his voice oddly soothing to the direwolf. "This is dreamsand. It has a great power; it will ward his sleep and make it peaceful. We have great plans for Jon Snow; the sooner he is healed, the better."

Ghost's ears perked slightly. He knew the difference between "we" and "I". "We" meant many. The winter-man-beast was not alone. Once more, the direwolf sampled the unusual scent, checking for any malice. There was none; that had not changed since they fled the Wall.

Finished with his magic, the man-beast glanced at the fire, frowning. Ghost couldn't smell what he was feeling, but if his face was any indication, he was not fond of the flames. That was odd; most men clung to fire; it was their link to life. But then, this was no ordinary man. Red eyes watched as he rose back up to the ledge he was so fond of; the direwolf would have called it flying, but that was absurd. No matter what power the man-beast held, he had no wings. And only things with wings could fly.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

_**A/N: It's short and simple, but then again, it is from an animal's perspective. Don't expect too much complexity from Ghost's chapters. They'll probably all be pretty short.**_


	4. 4: JON

**A/N: Three chapters are more than enough to post warnings of spoilers. Besides, most of the story is original concepts from this point. I hope everyone is enjoying this so far. I have no way of knowing…*insert sad, dramatic music* Alas, so many readers, but nary a review in sight. On a related note, however: *grabs DementedDementor101 and Gloriana the Younger and smooches* Thank you for being the first followers of this story! *Also smooches CasperGhost* That was for being the first to favorite this. I was beginning to think that maybe I was butchering things so badly that people were just running off screaming "THE HUMANITY!" Thank you, thank you, and thank you!**

**Title:** Winter Is Coming

**Rating:** T, may increase to M for bloodshed and general GoT-style awesomeness

**Genre:** Drama/Hurt/Comfort/Betrayal/Adventure/Action…basic ally a bit of everything

**Category A:** _Rise of the Guardians_

**Category B:** _A Song of Ice & Fire/Game of Thrones_

**Characters:** Jon Snow, Jack Frost, Ghost, Daenerys, probably heavy mentions of Arya because she's fabulous, appearances by assorted other characters from both fandoms.

**Summary:** _The Stark words: "Winter is coming". But Jon wasn't a Stark. He was a Snow. A bastard. A brother to the heirs of Winterfell and a Brother of the Watch. He was a warg and a Wildling. And, unknown, but most important, he was Winter's champion._

**Disclaimer:** _Sadly, I am not the genius behind _A Song of Ice & Fire_, nor one of the ones behind _Rise of the Guardians_. All I own is my own insanity, which I claim proudly and fully blame for this convoluted mess._

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Chapter Four: JON

It was dark the next time he awoke. The fire that had blazed in the center of the hollow had smoldered down to embers; still warm, but not as brilliant. There was a heavy smell of ash in the air that told of the many logs that had given their lives for his. Though he couldn't see much, Jon knew he was alone in the warm space. Neither Ghost nor the strange "Jack Frost" were anywhere in sight.

Slowly, he pushed himself into a sitting position. With no looming sense of fear or danger, his body decided to protest the movement, informing him how stiff his bones felt and how weak his muscles were. Slowly, painfully, he remembered how close to death he had been. Frantic fingers patted over his person, feeling the rips in his clothing, yet finding only the faintest traces of injury beneath them. Many days must have passed.

A sliver of argent light crept cautiously into the gloom, peeking through the opening of the hollow. Moonlight, he realized. It must have been hidden by the clouds. Jon pushed himself to his feet, taking easy, shuffling steps to the lopsided opening and out into the wintery world. Fresh snow crunched beneath his boots, the only sound in the sleeping world. The stillness was so deep and complete; he knew he was beyond the Wall. It felt strangely right. Almost like home.

"Welcome back to the living, Jon Snow."

He started at the voice, reaching for a weapon that wasn't there and casting his gaze around. All around him the forest stretched endlessly, white on white, sprinkled sparsely with the black coarseness of pines. Nothing stirred or breathed, not even the wind. There was only he and the smiling moon.

"Up. Why does no one ever look up?" It was a lament, but Jon obliged it, raising his eyes to meet the unnerving gaze of Jack. "'Death comes from above.' Is that not what they say?"

Jon had never heard such a phrase, so he shrugged, wincing as the motion pulled at his healing wounds. The words seemed strangely ominous coming from someone who claimed no ill will.

"Or maybe they don't here? I can't remember."

Now Jon was confused. He'd never been particularly good at riddles. Jack seemed to be nothing but. It didn't help that he was woozy and hungry. "You make no sense, Jack Frost."

The white-haired boy settled against the trunk of the tree he was perched in – a weirwood, Jon realized vaguely – and stretched his spindly legs out in front of him. Immediately, he seemed completely non-threatening. And very, very quiet. The only sound was the faint whistle of the wind through the bare branches. As it died, Jack spoke. "And you know nothing, Jon Snow."

"What?" The words caused a strange tugging sensation in his chest.

"According to the wind," Jack added with a laugh. "But I find that more amusing than knowing everything, no? To know something about everything, and maybe everything about something, would make one wise beyond measure, would it not?"

Again Jon shrugged, though this time it was more of a shuddering hunch as he massaged his temples. He was in no shape to be listening to someone talk in circles. It was more frustrating than any maester's lessons and more confusing than any of Old Nan's impossible (or not-so-impossible, now that he knew better) stories. And, he realized with a frown, it got him no closer to knowing more about this Jack Frost, whom he still did not fully trust. Grumping to himself, he flopped in the snow, propping himself against the weirwood. "Who are you?"

"I am Jack Frost, as I told you. Ask the question you really want answered; I will not lie."

Jon hesitated, staring out into the endless white. "What are you?"

"Many things. I am a Guardian, chosen by the moon. I am the keeper of Fun. I am a brother of bond and a brother of blood. I am a prince and a vagrant; a knight and a knave. I am a son of the Overland line-"

"Then you are a bastard too," Jon interrupted. He'd never heard of the Overland family, but there was much he didn't know about wildlings (and if Jack had brought him beyond the Wall, and – like he claimed - was not a white-walker, it stood to reason he was a wildling). He already knew they weren't as barbaric as people believed. They didn't bow to a king, but they did respect longstanding families. Maybe they had their own bastard names; if so, Frost would be fitting.

There was the sound of wood striking wood and a snowdrift landed on his head. He looked up to see Jack several branches lower than he had been (though there'd been no sounds of movement) peering at him through slightly narrowed eyes. "I'm better mannered than you," the ghostly boy added with a hint of venom and more than a hint of entertainment. "Bunny will find that amusing. But no, Jon Snow, I am not baseborn. I simply _am_. I would advise you to return to the shelter the weirwood made for you. I am bringing in a storm."

"_You're_ bringing a storm? Are you a sorcerer?" With all he had seen since joining the Watch, Jon would not doubt anything.

Jack sighed, pacing along his branch, his staff slung across his shoulders. Jon noticed that he wore no shoes or wrappings to shield his feet from the cold. "What are your words, Jon Snow?"

Words? Jon frowned, brown knitting together. "Night gathers, and now my watch-" He stopped as Jack twisted around, a frown on his unnaturally pale face.

"_Your_ words, I said. Not the Watch's words."

Jon just stared dumbly, confusion obvious on his face. The oath was the only words; he had no others. Jack crouched down, staring at him intently, head cocked to the side. When it became clear that he had no answer, he dropped his gaze and dropped out of the tree. Instinctually, Jon tried to scramble to his feet to break the other man's fall, but before he could rise, a gust of wind roared between the trees and Jack flew – _**flew**_ – around the weirwood. Flurries of snow marked his trail.

"You should be better prepared, Jon _Stark_. My arrival cannot wait any longer." Without waiting for an answer or his words to sink in, the pale boy disappeared into the trees, the wind pushing him south. Snow fell heavier, layering another blanket upon the ground.

Jon watched him vanish, eyes wide and muscles tensed. He'd called him "Stark". Warmth materialized beneath his fingers, marking Ghost's silent return, and he gripped the direwolf's ruff; more to confirm that he – and therefore, everything else – was real. "Winter," he murmured, allowing a stray breeze to push him back into the warm hollow beneath the weirwood. "Winter has come."

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

**A/N: If my opening author's note wasn't enough of a hint, reviews are welcome. I don't enjoy asking for them, as a general rule, but that doesn't mean I don't **_**like**_** them. Especially when dealing with a source as grand and epic as GoT. So, please, somebody, **_**anybody**_**, leave me a review. Even if it's a flaming rant about how I am a butcher and should not make any further attempts to write in the style of one George R. R. Martin (though I hope nobody thinks that way).**


	5. 5: THE FACELESS GIRL

**A/N: "How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?" An adult woodchuck is capable of chucking three cords of dry low-grade wood per hour. Wet wood averages about one and a quarter cords per hour. Finer quality woods, however, require gentler handling and can only be chucked at a rate of one cord per day.**

**This has been your daily dose of nonsensical knowledge from **_**Professor Kagirinai's Big Book of Fictitious Facts**_**.**

**Now, on to the important stuff: the current list of followers and reviewers. DementedDementor101, Gloriana the Younger, CasperGhost, AlwaysGryffindor13, Darksnider05, harrylee94, & Rileyshima**

**Title:** Winter Is Coming

**Rating:** T, may increase to M for bloodshed and general GoT-style awesomeness

**Genre:** Drama/Hurt/Comfort/Betrayal/Adventure/Action…basic ally a bit of everything

**Category A:** _Rise of the Guardians_

**Category B:** _A Song of Ice & Fire/Game of Thrones_

**Characters:** Jon Snow, Jack Frost, Ghost, Daenerys, probably heavy mentions of Arya because she's fabulous, appearances by assorted other characters from both fandoms.

**Summary:** _The Stark words: "Winter is coming". But Jon wasn't a Stark. He was a Snow. A bastard. A brother to the heirs of Winterfell and a Brother of the Watch. He was a warg and a Wildling. And, unknown, but most important, he was Winter's champion._

**Disclaimer:** _Sadly, I am not the genius behind _A Song of Ice & Fire_, nor one of the ones behind _Rise of the Guardians_. All I own is my own insanity, which I claim proudly and fully blame for this convoluted mess._

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Chapter Five: THE FACELESS GIRL

She wove through the bustling crowd that filled the docks, dodging around people in too big a hurry to step aside for the dirty girl that crossed their path. Grey eyes were wary and watchful, looking for any sign of weakness, any vulnerable spot she could strike. Her stomach rumbled, but she paid it no mind; refused to call attention to it or herself. Doing so would turn her from predator to prey. And she was nobody's prey.

But she was hungry. And if she did not find someone who kept a loose purse, she was going to stay that way through the night. Again.

She squeezed her way between two people who were wide-eyed with wonder at all the waterfront bazaar had to offer, certain she had found her mark. But as she slyly slid her knife out, both turned towards some stall or another, momentarily sandwiching her and unknowingly moving their coin pouches out of her reach. All she got was a deep slice on the heel of her hand and her own blood on the point of her knife.

"You stupid," she hissed lowly, darting out of the crowd, taking refuge from the bustle atop a pile of cages that were empty, but stank in a way that suggested they very recently were not. "Stupid," she muttered again, bringing the wound to her mouth, trying to suck the pain out. Her eyes returned to the ever-teeming mass of people, trying to spot a more likely target from her vantage point. _No_… _no_… _no_… _there!_ Grey orbs lighted on a tall man who stood head-and-shoulders above the crowd. He was wide, as well, but she was not worried. Like any good predator, she could read a person and rarely be wrong. And a quick study told her that, as fearsome as he looked, the man was easy prey. Possessed of an innate wariness, yes, and the _potential_ to be dangerous, but suffering from the delusion that people were generally good. The type that would never suspect a child could rob him blind. She hoped he would learn from her, but was also glad no one had taught the lesson before.

As silent as a shadow, she slipped back into the living sea, keeping her eyes on the tall man's head as she approached. Drawing ever closer, she noticed more details that confirmed her choice. His torso was bare - save for a strange bandolier across his chest - which meant he would have his purse on his hip, and his gaze was distracted by the crowd, looking for someone. He would never see her until it was too late; and probably not even then.

Once again, she procured her small blade, eyes dropping from the man's head to his waist, zeroing on the full-to-bursting cloth bag hanging there. At another time, she could have wept at his blatant vulnerability. Were she not so blinded by thoughts of hot stew, she might have noticed the voice of her hindbrain insisting it was _too_ easy. As it was, all she could do was relish her good fortune and reach out to pluck her prize.

A strong hand closed around her wrist and she froze, glancing up with rebellious eyes, swearing to herself that there was no fear in her gaze. Impossibly green orbs stared back at her, revealing nothing of the tall man's thoughts. His grip was firm, but gentle, and for the briefest moment she saw black hair instead of brown and water replaced grass in the piercing stare.

Then she blinked and he said something in a language she did not know (though every carefully murdered, shredded piece of her femininity came back to life and purred at his accent), and the tug of memory was gone. "Let me go, you stupid," she snarled. Evidently, he could not understand her either, because he did not let go. Or he did and simply refused. She suspected it was a little of both.

Instead, he called out over the crowd and maneuvered her back to her pile of cages as easily as if she were a cloth doll, despite her attempts to break away and flee. Not once did his hold on her wrist loosen (nor tighten), even when he hoisted her onto one of the crates. She gave him her best death glare, but he ignored it, returning most of his attention to the flow of bodies streaming past. And though it was angry, her predator's instinct cautioned against any serious escape attempts. The man no longer read as prey, but he did not shout predator, either. So she waited, watching to see if she could spot who he was looking for.

She did not have to wait long, but she could not deny she was surprised. She had been expecting a group of men, or one at the very least, but the being that glided through the crowd was unmistakably female. And though where the man came from was a mystery, the girl was fairly certain this woman came from the Summer Islands. Not that knowing made much difference; she could not speak their tongue either.

She studied the newcomer as she approached, trying to get a more accurate read than she had with the man. It was difficult, as she kept getting distracted by trivial details. The woman was stunning and the feather she wore (which the girl had always found somewhat stupid before) suited her and almost seemed to be a part of her. She was dainty and delicate like a princess, but moved with a lethal precision and grace that made the girl's hair rise; and not entirely in unease. But, like the tall man, she did not give off any aggression or hostility.

Purple eyes found the girl, lighting up with a mix of excitement and confusion before traveling to the man. They spoke in their strange language for a moment; long enough for the girl to note the woman lacked the tall man's accent; and then, suddenly the woman was directly in front of her, wrenching her jaw open.

Deft fingers dove into her mouth and, with a quick twist, yanked out the tooth that had been wiggling around for the last few days. She bit back a cry of pain (unfortunately missing the woman's fingers) and glared sourly, raising her free hand to massage the sting away.

The woman had turned away, hands folded around the stolen tooth, eyes closed in concentration. A whisper of voices buzzed around the girl's ears and she swatted at them irritably. They quieted and the woman's eyes snapped open. Those strange violet irises turned to her and a slender hand held out a pair of golden coins. The feather-adorned head tilted to the side, studying her with a birdlike curiosity, before bobbing in a slight bow.

"A great pleasure to meet you, Arya Stark of Winterfell."

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

_**A/N: In case there is confusion, the tall man is Bunny, though I can understand if some might have thought it was North; so did I for a minute when I reread it. Also, I'm sorry to any anti-human!Bunny people out there, but I just couldn't come up with a way to incorporate a giant rabbit into the GoT universe without every character going "What the wha-?"And no, there is not going to be any AryaBunny vessels leaving port. I am a firm AryaGendry shipper. I just defy any sane woman (other than **_**maybe**_** Aussie women) to resist the swoon factor of an Aussie accent. Honestly. Like the other day at work, this guy came in who was kind of on the tail-end of meh-looking, but he opened his mouth and an Aussie accent tumbled out and I just felt like, "Take me, I'm yours." Anywho, I'm closing down my computer for the night before you all decide to track me down and have me committed. Ramble transmission end…**_


	6. 6: NORTH

**Followers & reviewers as of 4/15/2013: DementedDementor101, Gloriana the Younger, CasperGhost, AlwaysGryffindor13, Darksnider05, harrylee94, & Rileyshima**

_**Wouldn't it be great if, by the end of this fic, the above list takes up a page by itself? I think it would be fantastic.**_

**Title:** Winter Is Coming

**Rating:** T, may increase to M for bloodshed and general GoT-style awesomeness

**Genre:** Drama/Hurt/Comfort/Betrayal/Adventure/Action…basic ally a bit of everything

**Category A:** _Rise of the Guardians_

**Category B:** _A Song of Ice & Fire/Game of Thrones_

**Characters:** Jon Snow, Jack Frost, Ghost, Daenerys, probably heavy mentions of Arya because she's fabulous, appearances by assorted other characters from both fandoms.

**Summary:** _The Stark words: "Winter is coming". But Jon wasn't a Stark. He was a Snow. A bastard. A brother to the heirs of Winterfell and a Brother of the Watch. He was a warg and a Wildling. And, unknown, but most important, he was Winter's champion._

**Disclaimer:** _Sadly, I am not the genius behind _A Song of Ice & Fire_, nor one of the ones behind _Rise of the Guardians_. All I own is my own insanity, which I claim proudly and fully blame for this convoluted mess._

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Chapter Six: NORTH

It had been a long time since he had seen the effects of war, but as he looked across the ash-smothered field, North decided it had not been long enough. Another thousand years would not be long enough. Bodies littered the ground, too numerous and unimportant to have warranted burials. Instead, they were left to the scavengers; first to be stripped clean, and then to be picked to the bones. Despite his body being somehow returned to youth, North had never felt more like a tired old man.

There was a rustle of movement behind him and he spun around, raising his sabers. They lowered again as a horse emerged from the bramble; saddled, bridled, and flecked with blood. A warhorse, the man noted. "Tell me, my friend; what has happened here?" he asked, though his horse was rusty and his tongue tripped around some of the syllables.

The dappled behemoth raised his head, staring at North with the closest thing to surprise a horse's face could manage. "A great battle of the armies of the kings. Many men died. Many more fell to the wolves of the river forest. Many of us died too."

"That is very sad. Does your master live? What name does he call you?"

The animal pawed the ground, tossing his slate-grey mane. "My master fell. I have no name."

"Then, might I call you Petrov?" North suddenly felt nostalgic, remembering his first comrade from so long ago. "And may I ask that you carry me on my quest? I am searching for a boy."

The large equine was silent for a moment, staring at North. "There are many boys in Westeros," he said finally, moving to stand beside the man. He turned to present his saddle, inviting North to ride. "But not as many as there were. I, Petrov, will help you find the one you seek."

"Much thanks, my friend."

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Petrov lived up to his namesake, carrying North away from the battlefield swiftly, tirelessly laying miles between them and the putrid horror. He was a beast bred for strength and endurance, and boasted proudly of his lineage, claiming that his grandsire had carried Robert Baratheon on the day he won his crown. North, of course, did not know who this Robert was, but he gladly swapped tales of glory with the horse, answering each fierce battle with a daring escapade of his band of bandits.

"Sadly, my friend, it has been a great many years since those wild days," he lamented with a belly laugh, smacking Petrov's neck jovially. "Now, I race through the sky with gifts for the children."

"You lie," Petrov snorted, tossing his head. "Men cannot fly. Only things with wings can fly. This is known."

"I thought so too; once. But now…now I know better. Wiser men than I have taught me that just because something is unknown, does not make it untrue."

There was a stretch of silence, and then Petrov, not convinced, decided to change the subject. "This boy you seek; what do you know of him?"

North stroked his goatee, musing silently. "Very little," he admitted with hesitation. "The moon told me to find the son of the king. He said he would be a brave lad with a true heart."

"The moon?" Petrov stopped, looking up into the sky. A sliver of moon peeked over a cloudbank. "You speak like a mad man, horse-speaker, but you do not smell of one. There are many kings; I do not know which ones have sons."

"I shall know him when I see him. I'll feel it…in my belly." North rested a large hand over his non-existent stomach, momentarily missing his paunch. Thunder rumbled distantly and the ground started to become uneven. "Let us stop here, Petrov. We can wait until daylight to continue." He dropped to the ground, digging into his pockets and procuring some gingerbread men. He held a handful out to the horse. "Here; eat these. They are delicious."

Reluctant lips sampled the cookies, and then, with a whinny of delight, Petrov snatched up the rest of the offered snacks, munching noisily.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

_**A/N: Pure, unadulterated fluff. North seems to inspire that, go figure. But hey, think of it as establishing setting. North is somewhere around the riverlands and, in this story, is going to look like he does in the books; i.e. young and kick-ass. Don't ask why. And what do you all think of Petrov, Second of His Name? (Petrov [First of His Name] was North's horse in the books **_**=D**_**)**_


	7. 7: DAENERYS

**Followers & reviewers as of 4/16/2013: DementedDementor101, Gloriana the Younger, CasperGhost, AlwaysGryffindor13, Darksnider05, harrylee94, & Rileyshima**

_**Wouldn't it be great if, by the end of this fic, the above list takes up a page by itself? I think it would be fantastic.**_

**Title:** Winter Is Coming

**Rating:** T, may increase to M for bloodshed and general GoT-style awesomeness

**Genre:** Drama/Hurt/Comfort/Betrayal/Adventure/Action…basic ally a bit of everything

**Category A:** _Rise of the Guardians_

**Category B:** _A Song of Ice & Fire/Game of Thrones_

**Characters:** Jon Snow, Jack Frost, Ghost, Daenerys, probably heavy mentions of Arya because she's fabulous, appearances by assorted other characters from both fandoms.

**Summary:** _The Stark words: "Winter is coming". But Jon wasn't a Stark. He was a Snow. A bastard. A brother to the heirs of Winterfell and a Brother of the Watch. He was a warg and a Wildling. And, unknown, but most important, he was Winter's champion._

**Disclaimer:** _Sadly, I am not the genius behind _A Song of Ice & Fire_, nor one of the ones behind _Rise of the Guardians_. All I own is my own insanity, which I claim proudly and fully blame for this convoluted mess._

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Chapter Seven: DAENERYS

Stars twinkled in the sky, dancing blurrily behind the tears that threatened to fall. Slowly, Dany blinked them away, refusing to succumb to such weaknesses as crying. She was a queen, _khaleesi_ of the Dothraki sea, the Unburnt, the Mother of Dragons; crying was for children and beneath her. And yet the tears returned, distorting her vision and stinging her eyes. She was twice widowed, and both times, her husband's death had been at her hands. She was not saddened for Hizraqh; his fate was just and better than he deserved. He had tried to poison her and usurp her city. He had screamed for the death of her children. He had tried to turn her people against her. She had no tears for him.

No, her eyes brimmed for the stars above her and the brave, strong, kind man who rode eternally through them. "I miss you, Drogo," she whispered into the night, rolling onto her side. She pressed her cheek against the cool tiles of her terrace and squeezed her eyes shut, letting the tears slip out beneath her lashes. In the darkness under her eyelids, his face appeared; both the stern, fierce warrior's mask that led an endless horde and the soft, gentle visage that had smiled so radiantly, just for her. He should have been her king; was _supposed_ to be.

In the distance, sounds of merriment filtered up from the city. Her people, celebrating her return from the dead and the end of the siege on Meereen. She should have reveled in the sound, should have felt some swell of joy, but the laughter and music only served to remind her how alone she was. She could not afford to let down her guard, not even for a moment. If she did, someone would strike at her weakness. Despite what she said at court, she knew much about the ways of war.

But right now, there was no one around. No one to see her, spy on her, judge her. Only Ser Barristan was anywhere near, and he was a terrace and a room away, on the other side of a thick door that was locked on her side. She could drop all her defenses, just for a minute, and pretend she really was an ignorant young girl.

Instead, she wept, letting the bitter tears fall. She wept for everything she had endured, everyone she had lost, every betrayal she had suffered. And when she ran out of things to weep over, she wept simply because she had more tears to spill, and then, exhausted from weeping, she cried herself to sleep, oblivious to the creeping tendrils of gold that came to dance over her head.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Whiteness stretched all around her, blanketing the ground and cloaking the trees that stretched to the sky and on into infinity. Though she had never seen it before, Dany knew she was surrounded by snow. She knew it should have been cold, seeping through her thin gown to freeze her skin, but for some reason, it was not. There was no sensation whatsoever. There was just her and the snow and the silent trees.

She called out, but no sound broke the quiet. No breath of wind stirred her hair, her gown, or the bare branches. She took a few hesitant steps, but there was no crunch of snow. Onward she pushed, pausing now and again to glance back at the trench she cut through this mute world, marveling at the crisp purity of the white world. Everything was eerie and still, but she was not afraid. The dragon fears nothing.

And then, suddenly, she was not alone. A figure stood in front of her, tall and pale, with rotted hands and eyes that reminded her of the fires in the House of the Undying Ones; icy blue and without warmth or light. A stain of red painted the front of the figure and Dany did not have to guess what it was.

Blood.

An eternity passed as she and the figure stared at each other, unmoving, she barely breathing. For the first time since entering this empty realm, Dany felt the tickling fingers of fear grazing the hairs on the back of her neck. This…thing…was unnatural. It had no place in the realm of men.

"Leave," she commanded, her voice stolen by the void. She spoke regardless. "I do not fear you. Leave or suffer the wrath of the dragon." Still the figure did not move. "Go!" Dany ordered.

The pale mouth opened beneath those haunting eyes, making her go tense, human instinct rising from her gut and howling about danger. A piercing, inhuman shrieking filled the air and the figure lunged forward, racing over the snow. Dead black hands reached forward, grabbing for Dany. She could not move, could not flee, could do nothing but let her eyes go wide and feel terror grip her. She would die.

There was a flash of white then black, and then gleaming steel, and the awful screaming quieted into the sounds of flesh ripping and cutting. A flare of heat washed over her, followed by the scent of something foul burning, and then all was empty again.

Fear had blinded her, but now she blinked, revealing a change of scene. She still was not alone, only now a man stood across from her, dressed in black. A massive white wolf stood at his side, nearly lost against the snow, and two sets of eyes watched her with intense gazes; one red, the other a hard, flinty grey. A gloved hand reached out, inviting her across the again-pristine snow, and for a moment, she wanted nothing more than to take it and run into this magic land where no one would think to find her. Her own hand moved slowly, tentatively, as if the slightest touch would cause the world to crumble.

Just before their fingers met, a yawning blackness opened around her and she vanished into darkness, her screams of protest ringing silently into the abyss.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Dany woke up shivering, blinking as the gold hues of predawn bled into the eastern sky. A solemn face nestled into her memory, grey eyes boring into her before fading as consciousness regained control of her mind. Had it really all been just a dream? Parts had felt so real, so right, that it scared her. But no, it could not have been real. After all, she had never seen snow. And wolves did not grow that big. No, she had most definitely been dreaming. She felt a tad ashamed, dreaming about strange men, even if they were not real, but it was her secret to keep. And keep it she would; she would store it away and revisit it when she was alone.

Which was not now, she realized as a gentle knock rapped on the door. "_Khaleesi_? I have brought you some food." The familiar voice was a welcome relief. Dany moved to the door and opened it, locking it again once Irri had entered.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

_**A/N: Ack. More Daenerys. Hope it's better than the last Dany chapter. Let me know. Oh, and while I'm at it, are there any requests on any GoT characters you want to pop up in the story? I'll do my best to acquiesce. Just, no zombies. If they were confirmed dead by the end of **_**A Dance with Dragons**_**, I'm going to have to say no.**_


	8. 8: THE WATCHERS ON THE WALL

**Followers & reviewers as of 4/16/2013: DementedDementor101, Gloriana the Younger, CasperGhost, AlwaysGryffindor13, Darksnider05, harrylee94, & Rileyshima**

_**Wouldn't it be great if, by the end of this fic, the above list takes up a page by itself? I think it would be fantastic.**_

**Title:** Winter Is Coming

**Rating:** T, may increase to M for bloodshed and general GoT-style awesomeness

**Genre:** Drama/Hurt/Comfort/Betrayal/Adventure/Action…basic ally a bit of everything

**Category A:** _Rise of the Guardians_

**Category B:** _A Song of Ice & Fire/Game of Thrones_

**Characters:** Jon Snow, Jack Frost, Ghost, Daenerys, probably heavy mentions of Arya because she's fabulous, appearances by assorted other characters from both fandoms.

**Summary:** _The Stark words: "Winter is coming". But Jon wasn't a Stark. He was a Snow. A bastard. A brother to the heirs of Winterfell and a Brother of the Watch. He was a warg and a Wildling. And, unknown, but most important, he was Winter's champion._

**Disclaimer:** _Sadly, I am not the genius behind _A Song of Ice & Fire_, nor one of the ones behind _Rise of the Guardians_. All I own is my own insanity, which I claim proudly and fully blame for this convoluted mess._

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Chapter Eight: THE WATCHERS ON THE WALL

A frigid wind blew swirls of white snow and black cloaks, snapping and burning the faces that bravely faced it. Somewhere below, in the warmth of Castle Black, voices bickered back and forth about who the command would fall to, but atop the Wall, such matters were far from mind. There was only somber mourning and quiet shock. The only sound aside from the scream of the wind was the thrum of an idly plucked bowstring. No one wanted to be the first to speak; to make it real.

"What was it?" Pyp finally asked, glancing at the other faces. Grenn and Satin looked at him; Dolorous Edd did not, still watching the storm brewing beyond the Wall with sullen disinterest. None of them needed to ask what he meant by "it." They had all been shocked to suddenly find Jon stabbed full of holes, but that had been nothing compared to the surprise of a spectral figure materializing in a vortex of snow.

"You saw," Dolorous Edd said gruffly, his aged voice further battered by concealed grief and added grimness. "White as death, with glowing blue eyes. It was a white-walker what took the Lord Commander." He pointed north. "Took him to that frozen hell so as to set his corpse against us."

"But Jon was still alive," Grenn protested dully. "That…thing…it protected him."

"And it spoke," Pyp added. "What white-walker can do that?"

"_That_ one, obviously."

"He flew." Satin added his voice to the discussion, sounding a bit dazed. His fingers still absently toyed with his bow string. "Took Jon and Ghost, and _flew_ over the Wall. Like a bird." Instinctively, every pair of eyes rose upwards, as if checking for the phenomenon.

"Dead men walking, wargs runnin' loose, and people being snatched up by flyin' grumkins." Dolorous Edd tucked his hands deeper under his armpits, stamping his feet to drive the cold back. "I'm not entirely sure I _want_ to live through this winter."

The others exchanged nervous glances; normally, they would dismiss that as Edd being Edd, but as the wind howled and the northern skies grew steadily darker, they could not help but wonder if they _would_ survive it.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

_**A/N: It's short, and doesn't really include anything of great importance, but I felt it was necessary. Gives kind of an outsider's perspective. Plus, it's nice to think that not everyone turned against Jon, especially since I can't remember exactly who did. Also, last chapter, I got Dany's second husband's name wrong. It's Hizdahr, not Hizraqh. That's what happens when your muse decides to sneak attack you at 1:00 AM and you forget to check your info before posting because your computer is in your room, but your book is in the living room. But I got it pretty close, and besides, he's not important. He's road jelly.**_


	9. 9: JACK

**Followers & reviewers as of 4/16/2013: DementedDementor101, Gloriana the Younger, CasperGhost, AlwaysGryffindor13, Darksnider05, harrylee94, & Rileyshima**

**Disclaimer:** _Sadly, I am not the genius behind _A Song of Ice & Fire_, nor one of the ones behind _Rise of the Guardians_. All I own is my own insanity, which I claim proudly and fully blame for this convoluted mess._

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Chapter Nine: JACK

True to his word, Jack did bring a storm, letting the snow and ice dance its savage dance with the wind; for a moment. He stoppered his power after a day and a half, not letting his reach extend very far past the Wall, and wincing as the restraint caused him pain. Winter was already long overdue in Westeros, but his late arrival had allowed the pointless war to flower. Now he would wait as long as he could in hopes that something could be salvaged. The pressure of backed up power was laughable next to the pain he would feel for those who would surely starve, slipping into death as the cold claimed them. That was something he had not revealed to Jon Snow; he was a Guardian, yes, but he was also a killer.

The snow faded into soft flakes that would drift for a few more hours without his guidance and the wind tamed from a shrieking madness to a haunting moan, bending around the trees happily. It caressed him softly, sensing his hurt, and gathered him in gentle arms, urging him to rest. It was not the same wind he was used to, not really; it was composed of different spirits, but they were no less his friends than those in the winds of Earth. They cared for him just as warmly.

"I'm fine," he assured them, allowing himself to be led on their course, floating lazily in the breeze. In the quiet, he found his mind wandering to his other friends, wondering how they would acclimate to the new world MiM had sent them to. He was not too worried about Sandy; like Jack, the little golden man peddled something universal. He probably had his own paths between worlds; Westeros was likely a fairly familiar place. But Tooth, Bunny, and North? They had the dangerous disadvantage of being specialists. Who knew how MiM had transformed them to fit this world? He doubted the celestial Guardian would allow a giant rabbit to run around.

Shaking his head, the boy pushed his concerns out of his mind. Each of the Guardians was more than capable of handling any danger. He didn't like it, but separating had been necessary. There were too many pieces that had to come together, scattered across the land. Finding them one-by-one would have taken too long. Besides, Jack had to stay behind the Wall for as long as possible. The lands beyond the sea were not ready for winter; the Kingdoms were not prepared. He had been gone too long and had returned too late. Tying together the frayed edges was the only chance; especially with what stirred in the heart of the frozen north.

The weirwood hollow appeared ahead and the wind slackened, depositing its weary passenger on the boughs of a neighboring pine. The branch creaked a faint protest at the added weight, but held firm. Faint footsteps broke through his new snow, silent to ears that did not know the quiets of winter and wild, and he rolled his head to face Ghost. "Will you keep watch tonight?" he asked. White fur ruffled in the wind, reflecting the gleam of silent moonbeams, and red eyes held blue evenly. An agreement passed between them wordlessly, and the direwolf sat on his haunches, nose pointed into the wind, ears pricked to full alert. "Thank you," Jack breathed, letting his aching body relax against the tree. Within moments he had dropped into a sound sleep.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

"_Jack_… _Jack_…"

Jack shifted in his sleep, curling tighter on himself, trying to cling to whatever dream Sandman had sent him. He was tired and sore. Why wouldn't Jamie let him be?

"Jack Frost!"

The urgency in the shout dispelled the fog of unconsciousness, jerking Jack awake. Fully alert, he recognized the voice as Jon Snow, not Jamie, and he dropped to a lower branch. Jon stood in the knee-deep snow, a blazing branch in one hand, Ghost's back under the other. The direwolf's hackles were raised, his face pulled into a smiling snarl. The forest was quiet, even for a winter night, and the darkness outside Jon's circle of torchlight seemed exceptionally thick.

"White-walkers." There was no question in Jon's voice, despite his immediate blindness to the enemy that pressed just out of sight. "A lot of them."

Jack sank into a crouch, one hand resting on his perch, the other tightening on his staff, sending a fresh layer of frost over the worn wood. A blue glow fanned outward as he directed his power into the conduit, lighting up one circle of forest after another until the white-walkers were revealed. He hissed, an animal sound that was low and cold and lethal, drawing the attention of the abominations that corrupted his domain. Filmy blue eyes moved as one to settle on him, dead mouths pulling into sick facsimiles of smiles. Another hiss slipped past his lips, daring them to try him. There was a moment's hesitation, and then, as one, they charged.

Their approach was swift, unhindered by the deep snow, but he was faster still. He slammed his power back, sending it down the tree and across the buried ground, bringing it up again as an unbroken barricade of massive icicles. The crystalline spears were angled sharply, impaling many of the white-walkers as they ran. Another slam of his staff brought up a second row, piercing the opposite way, skewering the creatures in place. A handful made it past the defense, only to be quickly torn apart by Ghost's silent claws and fangs.

"Destroy them," Jack snarled, his voice as cold as his skin. Jon was quick to obey, touching his torch to every struggling body and shredded limb. Jack remained tensed and coiled, eyes and ears scanning the forest, and it was only when the last wisp of smoke was chased away by the wind that he allowed his guard to drop. He flopped onto the branch, exhausted despite his sleep, letting his magic seep back into his skin. Twining his fingers into his hair, he exhaled a deep breath, looking down at Jon. "We move on at daybreak."

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

_**A/N: There. That's it. No more for the day. Probably. Don't expect this many one-day updates often, though. I mean, I probably **__**could**__** do it, but it would end with me drooling in a padded room. Anyhow, I tried to make this one longer. Hope you enjoyed it. AlwaysGriffyndor13 pointed out that all my introductory stuff took up a lot of space, so I got rid of most of it. This chapter feels naked to me, now, but hey, more actual story for you to read. So I guess I'll get over it. ^.^ Who should I do next?**_


	10. 10: BUNNYMUND

**Followers & reviewers as of 4/16/2013: DementedDementor101, Gloriana the Younger, CasperGhost, AlwaysGryffindor13, Darksnider05, harrylee94, & Rileyshima**

**Disclaimer:** _Sadly, I am not the genius behind _A Song of Ice & Fire_, nor one of the ones behind _Rise of the Guardians_. All I own is my own insanity, which I claim proudly and fully blame for this convoluted mess._

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Chapter Ten: BUNNYMUND

The sun beat down mercilessly, coaxing beads of sweat onto his forehead. Grumbling to himself, Bunnymund raised an arm to wipe the moisture away, flinching as skin met skin. If someone had told him a week ago that he would be transported to another world and stuck in the body of a human, he would have called them a ratbag liar and probably threatened them with his boomerangs. And, yet, here he was, walking through a forsaken desert, leading a horse and cart and looking very, very _human_. He shuddered, the feeling traveling up in phantom pains to his ears that were no longer there. He had nothing against humans, as a whole, but that did not mean he wanted to _be_ one. They were gangly, awkward creatures; he had lost track of how many times he had tripped over his feet, subconsciously trying to walk on his toes. Enough to fracture his fragile patience, he knew that much. His temper was not helped by Tooth's endless chatter behind him, her tongue rolling through a language he did not know.

"Oi, Tooth. If you're gonna' talk the whole time, at least teach the ankle-biter English. Can't help feelin' like you're talkin' 'bout me."

There was a long pause, and then Tooth spoke up sweetly. "I would _never_ do something like that, Bunny."

"Why don't I believe ya?"

"Because you're grumpy and hot and trying to teach yourself how to walk again."

"I can walk jus' fine," he protested, stumbling as his heels unconsciously rose once more. Tooth at least had the decency to mask her laughter behind false coughs, but the little ankle-biter chuckled openly. Despite himself, Bunny couldn't stop the faint smile the sound brought to his face.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

_**A/N: *kicks this chapter around until it's bloody and unrecognizable* Ugh. I hate this one; so freakin' bad. So I'm going to blame it on churning out so many chapters today and hope you'll forgive me. And on the fact that poor Bunny is trapped behind language barriers, because my firm head-canon is that Westerosi and English are not the same thing.**_


	11. 11: NORTH

**Followers & reviewers as of 4/20/2013: DementedDementor101, Gloriana the Younger, CasperGhost, AlwaysGryffindor13, Darksnider05, harrylee94, Rileyshima, JediClaire, Soului, & Taturana**

**Disclaimer:** _Sadly, I am not the genius behind _A Song of Ice & Fire_, nor one of the ones behind _Rise of the Guardians_. All I own is my own insanity, which I claim proudly and fully blame for this convoluted mess._

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Chapter Eleven: NORTH

North did not like this land, this Westeros. Death and war had cut too deeply; it was a scarred, empty place. Day after day, Petrov took him through miles of rich, prosperous land where towns could have thrived. Maybe they did at one point. Now there was only desolation and the ever-present grey mist that fractured even the Guardian of Wonder's good cheer. By the time he made camp on the seventh night, he could not summon enough magic to conjure more than two gingerbread cookies, both of which he gave to Petrov.

The only other life they had encountered was a pair of carrion birds picking at the face of a horribly mutilated child. North had lost his lunch, but then buried the small corpse, a courtesy he wished he could have done for each body he saw. Now, with the grave long behind him and a relatively unmolested patch of grass serving as his pillow, North questioned the senselessness aloud. "Why do people do such horrors to each other?"

"Humans play dangerous, greedy games," Petrov told him. "The game of thrones is the most deadly."

"And the most stupid," he answered in disgust. He was glad the people of Earth had largely done away with monarchies. "It is game no one wins."

Petrov shook his mane in agreement, stamping on the grass to convey his general distaste for the human race. Suddenly, his head shot up, staring into the dark forest that bordered. His nostrils flared and he took a step closer to the fire.

"Petrov?"

"I smell men; many of them. They do not smell friendly."

North was on his feet in an instant, sabers in hand. The firelight gleamed off the twin blades and cast fearsome shadows across his face. His fingers drummed the hilts in anticipation while his sharp blue eyes scanned for movement. Slowly, steadily, his feet moved him in a circle, never leaving his back exposed in any one direction for too long. He would not be an easy target.

In the unnatural quiet, a twig snapped; it could have been the fire, it could have been a careless foot, it could have been a shuffling squirrel. Whatever caused it, it broke the spell of pre-combat. A wave of shadows charged from the trees, melting into men as the fire's glow hit them. With a bellow, North moved to meet them, his swords knocking aside deadly steel while his elbows and feet found flesh and armor, knocking his opponents to the ground and into each other. He would not strike them down with his blades; not if he could help it.

Despite the disadvantage of his mercy, North was a whirlwind, fierce and formidable. The men who faced him were poorly trained, barely able to compensate the weight of their overlarge weapons; made for crushing more than cutting; and the way they pulled their bodies after each swing. It would take time, but eventually they would wear themselves out. He was confident he could hold them off until then.

A sudden tingle ran up his spine and he whirled, raising a saber to parry a well-delivered strike that would have crippled a slower man. A quick survey took in the young man – still just a boy in North's eyes – and his belly rumbled knowingly. As if to confirm his instinct, a shaft of moonlight poured down on the boy.

"North!"

Petrov's cry was high pitched an shrill, a clear warning. With a laugh, North pushed the boy back, turning in time to see the swing of a crude club – and too late to stop it from connecting with his head. The world spun and went black.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

He did not know how long he floated through the dark void of unconsciousness, but when light finally pierced through his eyelids again, it was soft and flickering, moving in time with the buzzing of voices on the periphery of his slowly expanding circle of awareness. He opened his eyes, blinking the world into focus, and became aware of a number of things. One, he was in a deep cave next to a large fire; two, his hands were firmly bound behind his back – something he'd worry about more once later; three, Petrov was nowhere in sight; and four, most of his belongings were currently across the cavern being rummaged through. He could not stop the loud laugh that burst from his mouth as he rolled to a sitting position; what fantastic irony that he would find his princeling in the company of bandits.

His laughter attracted the attention of his captors, causing a fully armored man to storm over and stick a sword under his chin; one of his own sabers, he realized, glancing down. That was a blow to his ego that mellowed his chuckles, and they subsided entirely when the man spoke. The language that tumbled out was foreign to North's ears, revealing a problem he should have foreseen. No matter where he went, horses spoke horse and owls spoke owl; people, sadly, did not follow such simplicity. He could speak Russian and English (broken though it may be) and a handful of other languages where Christmas was relevant, but now he could only cock an eyebrow and screw up his face in confusion.

Only one solution came to mind, and it was one that would have had old Ombric beating North soundly about the head and shoulders – the old sorcerer had always been one for proper learning – but North had no other options. He would have to cheat. Ignoring the blade still at his throat, he screwed his eyes shut and began to chant the first lesson his old teacher had ever given him.

"I believe, I believe, I believe…"

Slowly the buzzing of half a dozen conversations faded, a few words becoming clear and distinct. They were small, but recognizable. That was good.

"I believe, I believe, I believe…"

Whole sentences started to make sense, punched here and there by unfamiliar words. Nearly there.

"I believe, I believe, I believe…"

The low voice of the man entered North's ears, growling a demand for answers. Who was he? Where had he come from and where was he going? Who was he loyal to? Blah, blah, blah. The Guardian quickly grew bored with it. "I believe those are mine," he stated simply, opening his eyes and dropping his blue gaze to the Cossack blade. The ropes tying his wrists fell away and he rose to his full height, crossing his arms over his chest, which was no less broad, despite the lost weight. Hints of his tattoos peeked out from the fur trim of his coat. "I am Nicholas St. North, and I have come for boy." His eyes fell to the boy who had nearly maimed him and he resisted a smile as every stare followed. "Man in moon has told me; this is son of king!"

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

_**A/N: Well, my muse ran of screaming after that hyper-update (I've accepted the fact that I can only disappoint you from this point on), but after seeing me flail on my own (and some coaxing with chocolate) it took pity on me and returned. Hope you enjoy this chapter. R&R guys, R&R. (Please)**_


	12. 12: THE APPRENTICE

**Followers & reviewers as of 4/16/2013: DementedDementor101, Gloriana the Younger, CasperGhost, AlwaysGryffindor13, Darksnider05, harrylee94, Rileyshima, & JediClaire**

**Disclaimer:** _Sadly, I am not the genius behind _A Song of Ice & Fire_, nor one of the ones behind _Rise of the Guardians_. All I own is my own insanity, which I claim proudly and fully blame for this convoluted mess._

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Chapter Twelve: THE APPRENTICE

Fat snowflakes melted into his silent wings, soft and wet and blissfully cold. His golden eyes saw farther and clearer than he ever had before; he could almost see each individual crystal in the snow below. Weak sunlight glittered off the fresh powder like an endless expanse of diamonds and gentle breaths of wind stirred the flurries playfully. Breathing in the deep peace, he closed his eyes and rolled into the breeze, letting it buffet him around.

His romp was cut short as a stray current spiraled him upwards, crashing him into something as cold as ice, but far softer. His vision spun in dizzy white circles for a moment and he hooted in distress, trying to reorient himself.

"You alright?" The voice was close and strange, accompanied by cold hands that smoothed his feathers and checked his wings. He was spun around once more, brought face to face with bright blue eyes. "You shouldn't fly with your eyes closed, youngling. Especially not in a borrowed body."

He cocked his head, blinking stupidly. He was sure he did not know this man with his odd white hair and piercing eyes, but somehow he could see him inside the owl. "Who are you?" he questioned, forgetting his form. All that breached the air was a series of hoots and beak-clicks, followed by the man laughing.

"I don't speak owl. I declined North's offer to teach me; never thought I'd need it."

All he could do was blink in confusion and hoot irritably. So he did, squirming against the cold gentle grip that still held him. And he fell completely still again as two figures approached; one white, the other mostly black. Recognition warmed him down to his talons and he gave a happy chirring noise.

The man glanced over his shoulder and smiled. "Tell Brynden an old friend is stopping in, youngling. And perhaps you should don a more suitable skin?"

With another laugh, the man tossed him into the air. He floundered for a second, held aloft by gentle breezes, and then he stretched his snowy wings, wheeling back towards the greenseer's cave.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

_**A/N: Arrgh! Do you know how WEIRD it is to refer to Jack as a man instead of a boy? Period differences, guys; they're a pain in the petunia, I tell you what. Oh well, I survived it. And yes, last chapter, North totally did Pocahontas the shit out of his language barriers. *struts***_


	13. 13: DAENERYS

**Followers & reviewers as of 4/24/2013: DementedDementor101, Gloriana the Younger, CasperGhost, AlwaysGryffindor13, Darksnider05, harrylee94, Rileyshima, JediClaire, WildDragon26221, & Atlantos**

**Disclaimer:** _Sadly, I am not the genius behind _A Song of Ice & Fire_, nor one of the ones behind _Rise of the Guardians_. All I own is my own insanity, which I claim proudly and fully blame for this convoluted mess._

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Chapter Thirteen: DAENERYS

Dany was bored out of her skull. To be fair, she had always found court dull, but today she wanted to scream. Ser Barristan had assured her that it was merely the fresh memory of reclaiming her city lingering in her blood and that she would start to relax again once peace started taking root. It was a nice sentiment, but she had her doubts.

For one thing, she realized now that she had no place in Meereen. True, the people praised her; hailed her as their savior, their mother, their queen; but how long would it last? Already, some were approaching her when their turn to speak came, asking when she would send Drogon away, or at the very least, lock him away. They remembered all too well the havoc and devastation caused by her dragons before, yet they forgot that Drogon and his siblings were her first living children. She had sacrificed everything to bring them into the world; she would not give them up. Beside which, they were her power. Without them, she was only a young girl who knew nothing.

Even if the Meereenese did eventually learn to live with her dragons, there would always be harpies skulking in the shadows. The Yunkai'i and the Astapori would always be prowling outside her walls, looking for a weakness. There would always be sellswords, holding out gifts in one hand while hiding daggers in the other. Sooner, rather than later, Meereen would be the death of her. It hid countless threats that haunted her waking hours.

And her sleeping ones? Wolves and winter warriors beckoned from her dreams, cold and austere, but oddly compelling, calling to something in her subconscious. She did not know what; the dreams always slipped into haze upon waking; but she knew in her heart that it was important. But every time her thoughts turned to puzzling it out, a spark of fear ignited in her mind. One dream, maybe even two or three, was innocent enough, but to see the same face night after night? A face she knew she had never seen in consciousness? She worried if maybe she was starting to teeter into the same madness that had claimed her father and Viserys; both their minds and their lives. It honestly frightened her, but the only one she had found the courage to confide in had been Missandei, her sweet little scribe.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

"Your Grace mustn't worry," the girl had told her, brushing out her hair. It was finally reaching a length that could be called feminine. "Your heart is much too big for madness. This one's mother used to tell me that there is a man of much magic. He weaves dreams into sand and spreads it across the land. She also said that sometimes he shows people what will, might, or should be."

"My heart is slowly hardening," Dany had answered, digesting the girl's words. She had very little use for magic and even less for its users, and had no reason to trust it. Magic had taken everything she had ever really loved. And she really did not like the idea of some sorcerer rifling around in her head. But she could not deny that she was curious. "'Will, might, or should be'? That's rather vague."

"The Sanddreamer is very old and very powerful, Your Grace. He is allowed to be vague. It lets him let people see what they truly want. At least in this one's humble opinion. I have never met him, so I do not know."

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Missandei's words echoed in Dany's head now, occupying the space left by boredom. She was so distracted that she initially overlooked the odd appearance of her next audience. After all, she had seen many strange customs. But as her attention refocused, she realized that this man took the crown for oddities.

He was small, as small as a child, yet lacking the stunted grotesquery of a dwarf, and was literally head-to-toe golden in color. Even his eyes and skin were a shade of gold. His clothing had no discernible seam, save for at the neck and wrists, and seemed to just blend into his body, reminding her of the statues in Illyrio's expansive gardens. He seemed to glitter where the light hit him, much like gold or sand.

_Sand_.

Realization hit Dany like a blow to the stomach and she rose to her feet. "Out. All of you. I will hear no more today. Go celebrate your peace as you will." Confusion greeted her at first, but her people started to trickle out, gaining momentum steadily.

Daenerys let her gaze rest on the little sand man hotly, informing him that he was not to move. He smiled cheerfully and began to whistle silently, rocking on the balls of his feet, fingers twiddling idly. Once the hall was empty, Dany descended her stairs, Ser Barristan and Strong Belwas at her flank, coming to a halt in front of the man. She was not renowned as a tall woman, but even she towered over the little golden figure.

"You are the Sanddreamer." It was not a question, but he answered it with a silent nod and a smile. "Why have you been plaguing me?"

She could feel Ser Barristan's alarm, but did not look away from the Sanddreamer. A part of her knew this would be the only chance she got to have her questions answered. The Sanddreamer thought for a moment, and then, slowly a cloud of sand rose over his head, twisting to form a picture of a dragon. Dany stared at it in wide-eyed amazement, watching as it gradually shrank until it was nothing more than a lizard. Then, an enormous stag appeared in the sand, trampling the lizard and gaining a crown; the Usurper, she realized with a frown. The sand-stag broke apart, revealing five new animals that were fighting, a few fading away. Fallen kings, Dany decided, cut down in the squabble for _her_ kingdom.

Abruptly, the scene changed, showing a forest and a wall. Figures rose up, twisted and fearsome; the monsters from her dreams, marching en mass towards the wall, which crumbled. The shapes of people appeared and fell to the monsters, rising up again to join their ranks, marching endlessly, and Dany felt a deep despair.

"Why are you showing me this?" she demanded.

The Sanddreamer held up a finger, and then two figures appeared, facing against the horrible army. Dany gasped, recognizing the warrior and his wolf. Fear gripped her heart as he moved to meet the horde, knowing he would not survive. She did not want to see this. As the warrior stumbled and fell, she turned on her heel, fleeing the hall, her throat tight. Ser Barristan and Strong Belwas followed immediately, casting scathing glances at the being that had distressed their queen.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Sandy watched them go, frowning. He wasn't finished explaining yet, and he doubted Daenerys would allow him another audience. At least, not one while she was awake. Unfortunately, the dreams he delivered were even vaguer than his sand messages. It was times like these he wished he hadn't sworn himself to silence. Over his head, a new sand-dragon swooped down, blasting fire at the frozen army.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

_**A/N: Oh-ho! Dany's good at charades, it seems. I'm sorry if there's a lot of OOC-ness in this chapter. Hopefully you all don't think it sucks as bad as I do. But look! Sandy! =D**_


	14. 14: GHOST

**Followers & reviewers as of 4/24/2013: DementedDementor101, Gloriana the Younger, CasperGhost, AlwaysGryffindor13, Darksnider05, harrylee94, Rileyshima, JediClaire, WildDragon26221, & Atlantos**

**Disclaimer:** _Sadly, I am not the genius behind _A Song of Ice & Fire_, nor one of the ones behind _Rise of the Guardians_. All I own is my own insanity, which I claim proudly and fully blame for this convoluted mess._

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Chapter Fourteen: GHOST

Ghost loped easily through the snow, his massive paws spreading his weight so that he only sank a little. He kept his nose turned into the wind and his eyes alert, ranging in small circles around Jon's slower form. High above, the winter-man-beast did the same, but went farther out, disappearing from sight frequently. The direwolf still did not know where the man-beast hid his wings, but apparently, he could fly. Just as easily as the white owl that kept appearing in the sky, leading them somewhere.

He did not know where they were going, but he trusted the man-beast, as did his Jon. Their acquaintanceship was only a few days, but already he was their friend. Ghost was glad of that; he would not want someone that powerful to be against his Jon. Now, however, he was worried. Ever since the white-walkers' attack, he had smelled an odd blood in the air. Instinct and the cold crisp of it had told him it was the man-beast's. He hid it well, but Jack Frost was hurting.

A stick dropped to the ground in front of him and Ghost halted, staring at the familiar object in concern. His red gaze shot skyward as the wind shrieked in alarm, his mouth opening in a silent whine. Branches cried for him as they snapped, broken by the plummeting form of the winter-man-beast. Ghost watched his descent, powerless to stop it, and then, gently taking the stick in his teeth, bolted to where he crashed, digging aside the snow that covered him.

The direwolf lay down in the snow, staring at the unconscious man-beast, waiting for Jon to catch up. For the first time since leaving the Wall, Ghost was worried. Secret though it was, the winter-man-beast had had a plan. If he died, they would have nowhere to go. If he died, eventually Jon would too.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

_**A/N: Oh no! What's happening? You are experiencing my attempt at Martin-esque dramatic cliffhangers, that's what. Enjoy the bog of uncertainty! Mwahahahahaha! Oh, and the Arya/Bunny/Tooth trio **__**should**__** be next chapter, but I'm not promising anything.**_


	15. 15: ARYA

**Followers & reviewers as of 4/24/2013: DementedDementor101, Gloriana the Younger, CasperGhost, AlwaysGryffindor13, Darksnider05, harrylee94, Rileyshima, JediClaire, WildDragon26221, Atlantos, & bobbinbird**

**Disclaimer:** _Sadly, I am not the genius behind _A Song of Ice & Fire_, nor one of the ones behind _Rise of the Guardians_. All I own is my own insanity, which I claim proudly and fully blame for this convoluted mess._

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Chapter Fifteen: ARYA

She could not say why she had decided to go with them. Maybe it was because they knew who she was – who she really was – and had to be watched. Maybe it was because they did not seem threatening. It could have even been as simple a reason as they fed her. She did not know. But already it was worth it, if even for the laughs. The hilarity of watching the tall man – Bunny, the woman called him; and really, how could she be afraid of a man named Bunny? – trip over his feet never grew old. And the woman – she said her name was Tooth, which was also not very scary – was fun to talk to. Arya never would have thought she would enjoy idle chit-chat, but Tooth didn't gossip like Sansa used to.

Instead, she told stories, but not the stupid flowery love stories about knights and princes that would never survive real battles. They were wonderful and fantastic and Arya couldn't help but believe they were true. She listened raptly as Tooth told her of growing up in the jungle, living in the trees and alongside fierce animals. She especially loved hearing about the tigers, which the feathered woman said were twice the size of lions. Of course, she kept her feelings about it to herself, as she doubted that sharing visions of the orange-and-black beasts devouring stupid Queen Cersei and that idiot Joffrey would be warmly welcomed.

Aside from the tigers, her favorite stories were about the epic battles Tooth had not only seen, but participated in. The warrior queen, Nymeria, had always been a hero of Arya's, but the Summer Islander was quickly joining her. A part of her wished for some attack, just so she could see if Tooth really was telling the truth. She would bet the golden dragons she'd gotten for her tooth that the woman would be beautiful in battle. Her eyes darted to the back of the wagon, falling on the meager bundle of belongings she had brought with her. Maybe…

The cart bounced to a stop, though there were still a few hours of daylight left. They never made camp before nightfall. "What is it?" she demanded, looking over at Tooth. The other woman stood, violet eyes scanning the desert before darting to Bunny. Arya followed the gaze, feeling uneasy as he sniffed the air and shifted into a fighting crouch that somehow made him seem bigger. She could almost imagine fur fluffing as he bared his teeth. Lithely, she hopped into the back of the wagon, snatching Needle out of her pack.

She could defend herself. She was nobody's prey.

The ground started to rumble as the unseen enemy came closer. War cries pierced the horizon in a language Arya didn't speak, but recognized easily. As a wall of horses appeared, her suspicions were validated. They were about to face a Dothraki raiding party.

She did not know much about the savage horselords, but there was one thing she had no doubt of. Three people, no matter how skilled they may be, could not stand up to them. She and Tooth might survive and be taken as slaves, but Bunny – poor, stumbling Bunny – would surely die. That was too bad; she was just starting to like the man.

"Those are Dothraki," she told Tooth as the band started towards their solitary wagon. "All they do is rape and pillage. If they don't kill you, they'll make you a slave."

Something dark fell over Tooth as she absorbed Arya's words; a cold violence that the girl had seen in mother animals when their young were threatened. Her eyes glazed over, shoving the cheerful happiness behind a warrior's curtain and Arya could have sworn that the feathers on her cape and headdress ruffled angrily. In the time it took her to blink, Tooth had pulled out a pair of swords that were unlike any the girl had seen before. They were long and curved, serrated near the tips so as to tear the flesh. They were lethal and lovely and Arya _wanted_ them.

Bunny's weapons were lackluster next to Tooth's swords and Arya felt dismay settle in her heart. What could he hope to do with curved bits of stick? They would not even make a decent shield. "You, _stupid_," she growled, pointing Needle at him in annoyance. "That won't even slow them down!"

Maybe Bunny did not speak Westerosi, but he could apparently tell an insult when he heard one. Arya flinched in spite of herself when he glanced over his shoulder at her, shrugging an eyebrow and giving her a smirk. With a practiced motion, he let his sticks fly and all the girl could do was stare as they crossed the distance between them and the Dothraki – farther than anyone should have been able to throw – and cut through the small horde, knocking a handful from their horses before returning to their owner, who caught them expertly.

Then another cry whooped through the air and the fight was on. Tooth and Bunny fell into combat with ease, used to each other's presence and technique and Arya was awed. They were beautiful, almost like dancers, and fast. Bunny zipped between horses, using his large size to knock them off their path, his lack of grace vanishing in the heat of battle. Tooth was all but a blur as she cut and sliced, visible only when she would leap over an enemy, seeming to hover in the air. The girl forgot she was supposed to be helping.

Until a pair of hands grabbed her from behind.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

_**A/N: Am I an evil bitch? Sometimes, yes. Today is just a cliffhanger type of day, I guess. Sorry. Actually, no, not really. Because I know they draw you back.**_


	16. 16: GENDRY

**Followers & reviewers as of 4/24/2013: DementedDementor101, Gloriana the Younger, CasperGhost, AlwaysGryffindor13, Darksnider05, harrylee94, Rileyshima, JediClaire, WildDragon26221, Atlantos, bobbinbird, ****Alowl, Theos Ghost, Delphine Pryde, The Earthdragon**** & V.S. Milton**

**Disclaimer:** _Sadly, I am not the genius behind _A Song of Ice & Fire_, nor one of the ones behind _Rise of the Guardians_. All I own is my own insanity, which I claim proudly and fully blame for this convoluted mess._

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Chapter Sixteen: GENDRY

The blade hissed and growled as Gendry shoved a whetstone along its length. His movements were rougher than was strictly necessary, but he ignored the metal's protestations, focusing a heated glare on the small crowd gathered near the back of the cave. It was mostly composed of the refugee children, though a good number of the women and even a few of the men were also sitting around starry-eyed. At their heart was the big man they had captured, gesturing wildly (they'd long since given up on keeping him restrained) as he told stories. Every now and then, his booming voice would erupt dramatically, the harbinger of delighted laughter or gasps of anticipation.

Gendry found it disgusting. Mummers, singers, and storytellers all fell under one much simpler title: liars. And this North was by far the worst of them. Just the thought that he was the offspring of that whore mongering Robert was enough to make his blood boil. For that was the only king at the time of his birth. True, North could have been referring to Renly or Stannis, but everyone knew Stannis found women distasteful and growing up in King's Landing taught you that Renly, however secretly, favored male company.

That left Robert.

Gendry ground the stone against the blade again.

There was a swirl of faded red at his side and he glanced over as Thyros sat beside him. "You do look a great deal like Robert," the priest said, his tone meant to be consoling. It was not.

"I also look a lot like _him_," he snarled, jabbing a thumb towards the story group. "Maybe_ he's_ really my father. Or maybe he's some lunatic trying to find a new poker to stick in the fire, like this war isn't bad enough without madmen running around proclaiming people as bastard princes."

Thyros held up his hands in surrender, shrugging his shoulders. "Stand down, lad. I meant no offense. Regardless of who your father may or may not be, you're your own man here. Don't let anyone change that, mad or otherwise." With a reassuring smile, he stood again and moved away, vanishing into the semi-darkness.

Gendry watched him go before casting another scathing glare at North, who continued with his gesturing unawares. Sneering, the boy let his mood darken and focused his ire on abusing his sword to a deadly sharpness.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

That night, Gendry sat outside the cave under the hill, watching for any threats that might approach through the darkness. The tip of his scabbard twisted back and forth, furrowing deeper into the moist earth below his feet, moving in time with the grinding of his teeth. Growling under his breath, he picked up a stone and chucked it into the night. It struck something larger hidden in the gloom with a satisfying thud, muffling the sound of footsteps approaching from behind.

"You have good arm. As good as Jack, maybe."

He shot to his feet, half-drawing his sword, a snarl forming on his face as he turned to glare at North. "What do you think you're doing?" Honestly, did the man not grasp the concept of "prisoner"? As answer, the towering man held up a pair of small circular objects.

"Petrov cannot sleep until he has gingerbread. I have spoiled him, I'm afraid." North leaned back on his heels, crossing one arm across his chest and raising the other to stroke his beard, peering at Gendry intensely. The gaze made the boy uneasy; it felt like he was being taken apart piece by piece and studied. "You do not like me," he said finally. It sounded like a question, but Gendry knew better.

"I don't typically have a fondness for liars, no."

The older man was silent for another long moment, musing to himself. "No, I think that is not why. I think you _want_ me to be lying; you are afraid what I say is truth."

Gendry faltered, his stance relaxing slightly. The words resonated within him, causing an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. "I'm no prince," he insisted.

"I said you are son of king. I did not say you are prince. MiM has not told me his entire plan, but I know I am not supposed to be placing you on throne. You have different part to play in ending this war. It is why we are here in your Westeros." North stood up straighter and crossed both arms, becoming an imposing figure, his face unreadable. "Who _are_ you, Gendry Kingson, and what do you fight for?"

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

_**A/N: Okay, that went in a WAY different direction than I had originally planned, but I still like it. Hopefully, you do too. Sorry about the late update. I've become a RotG/Harry Potter crossover junkie and had to add my own story to the stash. It's titled "Harlequin" if you're interested. I also went insane and started a RotG/Biker Mice from Mars crossover, which is the first of its kind. I foresee that ending with me in a fiery mess, but…meh, what can I say? No accounting for the tastes of the muses, I suppose. Anywho, this pointless, unrelated ramble is ending now. Reviews are always appreciated. **_**'3'**


	17. 17: JACK

**Followers & reviewers as of 5/24/2013: DementedDementor101, Gloriana the Younger, CasperGhost, AlwaysGryffindor13, Darksnider05, harrylee94, Rileyshima, JediClaire, WildDragon26221, Atlantos, bobbinbird, ****Alowl, Theos Ghost, Delphine Pryde, The Earthdragon****, V.S. Milton, MsChimix**

**Disclaimer:** _Sadly, I am not the genius behind _A Song of Ice & Fire_, nor one of the ones behind _Rise of the Guardians_. All I own is my own insanity, which I claim proudly and fully blame for this convoluted mess._

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Chapter Seventeen: JACK

The whispers woke him, the sound of a thousand voices, long since passed, lingering in the twists and pockets of the dark caves. They were faint and indistinct, but familiar and welcome. "Brynden. Did the Singers bring me to you?" Jack rose to a sitting position, fixing tired eyes on the man who was more tree than flesh. The weirwood roots had claimed more of him in the years he'd been away.

"No," the greenseer replied slowly, his voice as soft and faded as the dead echoes. "It was the young crow and his white beast. An odd balance, that pair."

Jack nodded his head in agreement, slumping against the cavern wall. There was no need for pretenses around Brynden; it was unexplainable, but the man was even older than he was. It was evident, however, that his life was beginning to slip away. "I see your piece of the puzzle found you."

"You have met the broken boy?"

"Yes and no."

There was a long stretch of silence where Jack might have dozed off again, returning to consciousness when Brynden spoke again. "Why are you stagnating, Jack Frost?"

"I was too late returning to this world. People grew foolish in my absence and went to war."

"And now you try to salvage some of the damage, but hurt yourself. You know you must shepherd winter into the Seven Kingdoms."

"People will die."

"People will _always_ die. They are dying now. But in the face of winter, maybe some can be saved. Maybe some will stop fighting." Brynden's voice took on an odd strength and he managed to move his head a fraction of an inch, tilting it to stare down at Jack. "If you dam up your power much longer, _you_ will die. And you will plunge Westeros into a cold darkness that it might never rise out of when that power flees your corpse."

Jack did not reply, staring at the floor in thought. Brynden spoke the truth. He always did. Small, sporadic storms helped, but he could not contain much more energy without imploding, creating an Ice Age that this land could not afford. Especially not now that the seals containing the white-walkers and their masters were starting to fracture. "Earth is not nearly as complicated," he said finally, missing his other world.

Another long, peaceful silence settled between the two as they soaked in their respective weakness, broken when the light of a torch approached. It was then that Jack realized the light he'd been seeing by was a faint blue glow that came off his own skin; magic leaking out of his body, taken on by the weirwood roots that surrounded him. Such splendid trees, weirwoods. It was a shame they no longer grew much farther south than Winterfell.

With the effort of moving a mountain, Jack rolled his head towards the approaching flame, smiling as one of the Singers came into view. He greeted her by name, his tongue rolling through her language with some hesitation; it had been so long since he'd spoken it. She smiled warmly in return, moving to place a bowl of water and some scraps of cloth beside him. Steam curled ominously off the surface of the liquid. "Is this necessary?"

As answer, the small woman tugged off his cloak, folding it carefully before setting it down across the chamber. Despite her delicacy, flakes of ice floated off the fabric, melting into the dark earth. Jack sighed, but obediently shrugged out of his remaining shirt before the Singer got notions to cut it off him. It was the only thing he had, after all. The movement sent pains through his body and he soon felt the uncomfortably familiar trickle of blood seeping from his many wounds.

"Those match mine." The new voice broke the quiet and Jack glanced over at Jon Snow, standing in the mouth of the cavern, laden with bandages and salves. A confused, wary look was on his face; Jack could not even muster the energy to laugh at how little it varied from his other expressions.

"To the length and letter," he answered, hissing as the Singer pressed a damp cloth to one of the lacerations. The water on it was only lukewarm, but to his naturally cold and recently oversensitive skin, it might as well have been molten steel. "I took them from you. You're of no use dead." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jon place a hand to his torso, presumably over one of the mostly healed scars from his betrayal. "Regretfully, I lack the expertise of my siblings. Winter is not the best at healing."

Letting Jon absorb that information, Jack focused on his injuries. Or more specifically, on not freezing the little Singer solid every time she pressed the damned hot iron to his skin. The blue glow soon overpowered the orange torch, flowing freely into the weirwood roots as they did their best to soothe his hurt and protect the others in the cavern. As the excess magic was siphoned away, Jack felt a weight lift out of his chest, the remaining power beginning to swirl freely. The dribbling of his blood ceased as tendrils of magic moved to seal the cuts; he was still not well enough to heal himself entirely. But he felt tremendously better.

"Who do you trust, Jon Snow?" he asked after a long stretch, raising his blue eyes to meet questioning grey. "The time is very close to turn back to the south, and you will need allies at your side. Decide now who you will choose. Brynden," he turned to the greenseer who had slipped into a dying man's slumber. "I have need of your birds."

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

_**A/N: This…did not work like I wanted it to, but I wanted to get something up before I head to the beach. Enjoy.**_


	18. 18: THE WATCHERS ON THE WALL

**Followers & reviewers as of 6/23/2013: DementedDementor101, Gloriana the Younger, CasperGhost, AlwaysGryffindor13, Darksnider05, harrylee94, Rileyshima, JediClaire, WildDragon26221, Atlantos, bobbinbird, ****Alowl, Theos Ghost, Delphine Pryde, The Earthdragon****, V.S. Milton, MsChimix, acerbus321, Pure Aqua, Kike2410,headlong-for-freedom, swiftrabbit, Erica0504, Soului…if I've forgotten anyone, shoot me a PM and I'll add you next chappie.**

**Special Shout-outs to LoneNight and Zulu86 for putting this story on their communities. I don't know what that means, exactly, but I'm tickled by it.**

**Disclaimer:** _Sadly, I am not the genius behind _A Song of Ice & Fire_, nor one of the ones behind _Rise of the Guardians_. All I own is my own insanity, which I claim proudly and fully blame for this convoluted mess._

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Chapter Eighteen: THE WATCHERS ON THE WALL

The wind was colder than normal, biting through their cloaks as they kept their watch atop the Wall. It blew down from the north, howling mournfully through the haunted forest before racing up the sheet of ice to slap at their faces. It seemed almost to be speaking to them, begging them to come, to help, to do something. They did not trust this wind; it made them uneasy.

They were even more suspicious when it stopped its wailing, whipping about in gentle puffs, carrying the faintest traces of warmth up to their frigid post. It switched its course, pushing at them from the south, trying to tug their attention to the northern waste, asking them to look.

It was one of the knights who noticed first, Stannis's man left to guard the queens – both red and wed. He was freezing his skin to his polished armor just so he could say he stood where the world ended, gazed down at the end of civilization from the top of the Wall. It would make a grand story when he returned to the south. Of course, they knew better. Night's Watch or not, no one left the Wall alive. Not really. Still they should have been paying more attention.

"What's that?" the knight had questioned, drawing them from their stupor as they waited for day to fade into night. There was little difference, making it a tedious wait. It was more with annoyance than interest that they followed his polished finger as it pointed out into the forest.

"Gods be good," someone muttered. It seemed a peculiar thing to say, unless it had come from one of the knights. They all worshipped the Seven; most of the Night's Watch had strayed to the old gods or held none at all. And seeing as how the weirwoods were glowing blue, blowing snow up into the air, it was doubtful the old gods had anything good to offer.

Pyp leaned against the wall, peering out over the forest. As far as his eyes could see, patches of blue light shone brightly, giving a purplish hue to the red leaves that stuck up out of the pine. "What do you think it means?" he asked, looking to his sworn brothers on either side. Grenn shrugged and Dolorous Edd huffed, spitting over the edge into the snow.

"Probably that the white walkers are on the move," the older man grumped. "Same color as their eyes, ain't it. Even if that ain't what it means, I can guarantee it ain't gonna be nothin' good."

There was a clanking of armor as Stannis's knights began their descent, running off to inform their red queen. The remaining watchmen rolled their eyes, surprised to find how few of their number had been in this particular patrol. Aside from the three of them, only Satin remained, gawking a few feet away. "Oi, close your mouth," Grenn yelled to him. "Your tongue will freeze."

They all shared a laugh at that, the novelty of the glowing trees already wearing off. They'd seen so many strange things, it would have been a disappointment if the weirwoods _didn't_ shoot light into the sky. They stamped their feet, moving as a group to stand closer to the small fire pit that provided warmth. None of them noticed the bird that landed on the ice, peering at them with intelligent blue eyes. It wasn't until it spoke that they realized it was there.

"What are you called, watchmen?"

All four jumped, startled, and it was Grenn who overcame his shock first, pulling his sword and swinging it at the bird. The large black eagle dropped out of the way, winging up higher into the air, watching them warily. It paid special attention to Satin, watching the young man edge for his bow and arrows.

"Brynden will be unhappy if you harm his bird, watchman. I come with a message, but I must know if you are whom it is intended for. What are the four of you called?"

Pyp raised a hand at Satin and gestured for Grenn to stow his sword. "That voice…you're that thing that took Jon Snow." The other three looked at him like he was mad. Maybe he was, but he recognized the bird's voice. The eagle eyed him, and Pyp could have sworn it looked annoyed.

"'Thing?' Did you just call me a _thing_? Be glad I am not actually here, watchman, or you would find your underthings frozen to something quite unpleasant."

"Way to go, Pyp. Piss off the talking eagle some more, why don't you?"

"Shove it, you great smelly aurochs."

The eagle laughed, startling them once more. "Pyp, is it? And the aurochs must be Grenn. Would the two of them be Satin and Dolorous Edd, then?"

No one answered, but Pyp noticed Satin nodding automatically. "Stop it, you idiot," he hissed too late. The eagle had noticed and was chuckling again.

"Good. Just the ones I'm looking for. Yes, I took Jon Snow. He was not safe here and I have no use of him dead."

"He's alive then?" Grenn questioned.

"Shut up and let me finish. Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to cram your mind up inside a bird's. The expression isn't birdbrained for nothing. Yes, Jon Snow lives. The Night Watch knows that the war of Westeros is nothing compared to what lies in the north. I will delay them as long as I can, but when winter falls, the Others will move, and the Wall will not be enough to hold them. Jon trusts you. When he returns, and he will, you will need to get him safely to the sea and deliver him to a man named North. You will probably know him when you see him. Can you do this?" There was a moment's hesitation, but then the four of them nodded. "Good. One more thing."

The eagle landed, cautiously walking towards them. When no swords were swung, it stuck out a foot. A curl of paper was tied to it. Grenn knelt down and removed it, flattening it against the ice. A crudely drawn map was sketched across the paper. "What's this?" Dolorous Edd asked.

"This is merely the final battle of a very long war, watchman. Those who came before you have fought this foe, but most of their knowledge has been lost to you. This map will lead you to a storehouse that will help you battle the Others. It's warded in magic, but I trust at least one of you is smart enough to get through. Or at the very least, the four of you _combined_ are smart enough." The bird flapped its large wings, lifting itself into the air again. A gust of wind carried it high above their heads. "And watchmen; do not involve the red woman. She means well, but her 'god' is no friend to man. Please heed me. If she plays any part in this, Westeros might fall into a darkness that will never pass."

Silence reigned as the eagle flew off, disappearing into the darkening sky. Only the faintest blue glow still clung to the nearest weirwood trees and shuffling footsteps could be heard as the next watch ascended the wall. Hastily, Grenn shoved the map into his pocket, stretching his hands over the fire, sharing a look with the other three. All of them smiled slightly.

Their friend was alive.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

_**A/N: *slaps self* A **_**month**_**?! I made you guys wait a **_**MONTH**_**? I am so sorry. I went to the beach, and my brother was home on states leave, and then I had some breakdown moments while I was coming to terms with him getting deployed next month. On top of which, we're understaffed at work at the moment so my schedule's been packed and there's been graduations and vacations and people not wanting to cook for themselves and 50 cent ice cream, which we HAVE to have in the summer for some hellish reason, and my mom's out of town, so I'm taking on her yard business for at least two weeks. Plus, you know, the standard instances of writer's block and the muse playing hide-and-seek. This turned out a little different than I imagined, but I like it. Got a little bit of Jack-snark in there. He's had to be so mature and responsible in this story that I felt he deserved a bit of teenage sass. Plus, the muse decided to sneak in and plant a plot seed. Let's see what will grow out of that. Until next time, my lovelies!**_


	19. 19: BUNNYMUND

**Followers & reviewers as of 6/24/2013: DementedDementor101, Gloriana the Younger, CasperGhost, AlwaysGryffindor13, Darksnider05, harrylee94, Rileyshima, JediClaire, WildDragon26221, Atlantos, bobbinbird, ****Alowl, Theos Ghost, Delphine Pryde, The Earthdragon****, V.S. Milton, MsChimix, acerbus321, Pure Aqua, Kike2410,headlong-for-freedom, swiftrabbit, Erica0504, Soului**

**Special Shout-outs to LoneNight and Zulu86 for putting this story on their communities. I don't know what that means, exactly, but I'm tickled by it.**

**Disclaimer:** _Sadly, I am not the genius behind _A Song of Ice & Fire_, nor one of the ones behind _Rise of the Guardians_. All I own is my own insanity, which I claim proudly and fully blame for this convoluted mess._

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Chapter Nineteen: BUNNYMUND

Bunny crawled along the ground, nose to the earth. He sniffed, trying to find any trace, any viable trail that might have hinted at the direction Arya had been taken. All he got for his efforts was a nose full of dirt and an attack of sneezes. With a frustrated roar that would have made the long-dead Pookas proud, he straightened up, pointing an accusing finger up at the moon that was creeping into the sky.

"This is yer fault, ya pock-marked, pansy-assed meddlin' gumby! Wha-what were you thinkin' sendin' us here, tellin' us to end some war! It was you who told us not to be messin' aroun' with the affairs'a mortals! Then what do ya do? Plop us in some forsaken, backwards pit of a wor'd and take away e'erythin' that makes us who we are!"

He paused for breath, pacing irritably. A few feet away, Tooth stood motionless, staring at him in shock, hands over her mouth. "Bunny, you…you yelled at Manny."

He whirled, glaring daggers. "Yer bloody well right I yelled at 'im. An' I've got more ta say." Bunny faced the shining orb once more. "So ya better listen up! Look at me, will ya! What the blazes am I suppos'ta do lookin' like this? I can't even move right! I can't hear, I can't smell, I can't see worth a damn! It's yer fault they've got 'er, ya hear me?! If we were the way we're suppos'ta be, they'd've nevah gotten their hands on 'er. So help me, Manny, if ya don't help make this right…I'll kill ya myself!"

Tooth gasped, glancing between the moon and her friend anxiously, violet eyes brimming with tears. She scarcely breathed waiting in terror for something to happen to Bunny. Not only had he yelled at the most powerful being known to spirits, but he'd threatened his life. Everyone knew that was suicide. In fact, by all laws, she should have been removing Aster's head at that very moment. But she couldn't; she felt very much the same way about the situation.

Nothing happened and the pair looked up at the sky, suddenly reminded that they weren't in their world. This wasn't their moon; who knew if Manny could see them, let alone hear them. Maybe that was a good thing. The small woman placed a delicate hand on Bunny's shoulder and both were surprised at the feel of skin touching skin. "We'll find her, Bunny. Arya's a smart kid. You of all people should know how important hope is."

Bunny shrugged her hand off, hanging his head. "What's the use, Tooth? We've got a broken-down nag and a rickety cart…both of which are stolen. I can't walk three steps without fallin' on my nose. You can't fly. They've got war horses and a lead that keeps getting' biggah. What scent I can get is useless…this whole place smells like horse." He waved a hand at the moon. "That ain't even Manny up there…it's hopeless."

_SMACK!_

Neither of them saw the slap coming, but the next instant, Bunny was rubbing his face and Tooth was glaring at him, sheer force of will keeping her in the air at eye level. She poked a finger into his chest, jabbing to emphasize her words. "E. Aster Bunnymund! I don't _ever_ want to hear that word from you again, you understand me? You are the _Guardian_ of Hope! As long as you're alive, _nothing_ is hopeless, got it?! I don't care if you're a _human_, a _Pooka_ or a bowl of _popcorn_; you pull yourself together and help me find that little girl!"

"Yeah, okay," Bunny mumbled.

"I can't hear you, soldier!"

"Alright! She's countin' on us, ain't she?" Bunny stood up straighter, squaring his shoulders. "I owe ya one, Toothie!"

Tooth smiled, dropping to the ground as the magic her rage had grabbed onto dispersed. "That's the Bunny I know." She placed her hands on her hips, looking expectantly at Bunny. Obediently, he started sniffing the air, freezing as moonbeams dropped down to surround them both.

"Crikey. I didn't mean it, Manny! I was jus' upset. Honest."

Tooth moved closer to Bunny, gripping his arm in worry. Manny wouldn't really kill them, would he? He knew Bunny had a temper and often said things he regretted. Swallowing, she squeezed Bunny's forearm, letting go in surprise as fur slipped beneath her fingers. An excited smile stretched across her face as she saw her own arm was once again sheathed in bright feathers, and she looked up at her friend, beaming at his familiar furry face.

"Let's go take back our ankle-biter," the Pooka said as the moonbeams retreated back into the sky, returning to their master. In seconds, his restored senses pointed him in the right direction and he sped off into the night, Tooth flying on his heels.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

_**A/N: You know I'm feeling guilty when I churn out a) pointless drabble bits and b) multiple chapters in one 24-hour period. But, all the better for you, yes? This was originally going to be a Samwell chapter, but I realized I can't write Sam. Plus, he's off at ***_**SPOILER**_***maester school ***_**END SPOILER**_***or whatever doing who knows what. So there will probably be no Sam in this story. Have some hankies and weep. However, this Bunny cameo has been bugging me since…the first Bunny chapter, I think. Maybe before that. I guess I just always wanted to see one of the Guardians yell at MiM. I mean, Jack comes close in the movie, but that doesn't really count, because that was just venting. Anyway…YAY POINTLESS FLUFF! And go Toothie! Show off your mad General-Queen skills. Probably some Dany next chapter, but no promises.**_


End file.
